Quotes
"Why did you try to stop me from going back upstairs that day?"
She managed to smile, although her eyes were already spilling over with tears. "I didn't know it really mattered to you. I didn't want us to miss the train."
It had been a small thing, an unimportant thing. For some reason not clear even to him he had insisted on going back upstairs to his study when they were about to leave the house for a short vacation. It was raining, and she had pointed out that there was barely enough time to get to the station. He had surprised himself and her, too, by insisting on his own way in circumstances in which he had never been known to be stubborn.
He had actually pushed her to one side and forced his way up the stairs. Even then nothing might have come of it if had he not -- quite unexpectedly -- raised the shade of the window that faced toward the rear of the house.
It was a very small matter. It had been raining, hard, out in front. From this window the weather was clear and sunny, with no sign of rain.
He had stood there quite a long while, gazing out at the impossible sunshine and rearranging his cosmos in his mind. He re-examined long-suppressed doubts in the light of this one small but totally unexplainable discrepency. Then he had turned and had found that she was standing behind him.
He had been trying ever since to forget the expression that he had surprised on her face.
"What about the rain?"
"The rain?" she repeated in a small, puzzled voice. "Why, it was raining, of course. What about it?"
"But it was not raining out my study window."
"What? But of course it was. I did notice the sun break through the clouds a little, but that was all."
"Nonsense!"
"But, darling, what has the weather to do with you and me? What difference does it make whether it rains or not -- to us?" She approached him timidly and slid a small hand between his arm and side. "Am I responsible for the weather?"
"I think you are. Now please go."
-- Robert A. Heinlein, "They" (1941)
I didn't notice it at first. David [Bowie] had to point it out to me. On a nice balmy Hollywood late afternoon, a storm was going on outside his window: rain, thunder, lightning, the works. Outside all the other windows in the house there was calm and sunshine.
I stood there looking at this thing, sort of numb, but then snapped out of it, resumed my Angie Fix-it role, and proposed reassuring points about the eccentric California climate and the deceptive topography of the Hollywood Hills.
I did a pretty good job, but all the same it took a long time to pacify David after this latest manifestation. He didn't get to sleep until quite late that evening. And before I myself went to sleep, I had to struggle for some time with the thought that my explanations weren't quite as convincing as I'd have liked them to be.
-- Angela Bowie with Patrick Carr, Backstage Passes (1993)
She managed to smile, although her eyes were already spilling over with tears. "I didn't know it really mattered to you. I didn't want us to miss the train."
It had been a small thing, an unimportant thing. For some reason not clear even to him he had insisted on going back upstairs to his study when they were about to leave the house for a short vacation. It was raining, and she had pointed out that there was barely enough time to get to the station. He had surprised himself and her, too, by insisting on his own way in circumstances in which he had never been known to be stubborn.
He had actually pushed her to one side and forced his way up the stairs. Even then nothing might have come of it if had he not -- quite unexpectedly -- raised the shade of the window that faced toward the rear of the house.
It was a very small matter. It had been raining, hard, out in front. From this window the weather was clear and sunny, with no sign of rain.
He had stood there quite a long while, gazing out at the impossible sunshine and rearranging his cosmos in his mind. He re-examined long-suppressed doubts in the light of this one small but totally unexplainable discrepency. Then he had turned and had found that she was standing behind him.
He had been trying ever since to forget the expression that he had surprised on her face.
"What about the rain?"
"The rain?" she repeated in a small, puzzled voice. "Why, it was raining, of course. What about it?"
"But it was not raining out my study window."
"What? But of course it was. I did notice the sun break through the clouds a little, but that was all."
"Nonsense!"
"But, darling, what has the weather to do with you and me? What difference does it make whether it rains or not -- to us?" She approached him timidly and slid a small hand between his arm and side. "Am I responsible for the weather?"
"I think you are. Now please go."
-- Robert A. Heinlein, "They" (1941)
I didn't notice it at first. David [Bowie] had to point it out to me. On a nice balmy Hollywood late afternoon, a storm was going on outside his window: rain, thunder, lightning, the works. Outside all the other windows in the house there was calm and sunshine.
I stood there looking at this thing, sort of numb, but then snapped out of it, resumed my Angie Fix-it role, and proposed reassuring points about the eccentric California climate and the deceptive topography of the Hollywood Hills.
I did a pretty good job, but all the same it took a long time to pacify David after this latest manifestation. He didn't get to sleep until quite late that evening. And before I myself went to sleep, I had to struggle for some time with the thought that my explanations weren't quite as convincing as I'd have liked them to be.
-- Angela Bowie with Patrick Carr, Backstage Passes (1993)
posted by Ouish at 4:34 PM
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